


Paper Cranes

by linnylove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, F/F, Female Draco Malfoy, Female Harry Potter, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Pining, Slow Burn, drarry femslash, lesbian!drarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 08:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnylove/pseuds/linnylove
Summary: Draco Malfoy, pureblood daughter of ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, desperately in love with Harry Potter, the girl who lived? A romance doomed from the start. But on New Year's Eve, a kiss sends everything spiralling.





	Paper Cranes

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm a lesbian, and Draco's a lesbian, and Draco loves Harry. Need I say anything more?

The rooms of the Malfoy Manor didn’t breathe, and so their occupants didn’t, either. It was cold in that mansion, uneasy and strange, as though a liminal space. In the recent lack of upkeep, the flaws creeping up the walls of the place began to act as a metaphor for the decay of the Malfoy name. Wallpaper curling up in corners, dust gathering on old family heirlooms, mould growing on heavy curtains and on the ceilings of their one too many bathrooms. All issues simple spells could’ve rectified, but neither Draco nor her mother had the headspace to care enough in order to _clean_ or _maintain_ or do any other task ascribed to their gender. Malfoys didn’t clean, they snapped at a house elf to do the work for them. Narcissa had dismissed all the house elves in anguish when her husband was imprisoned.

Draco often snuck onto the roof of the Manor and lay under the stars, thinking about how she felt about their situation. Did she really care that her father was in prison? Yes, and no. Mostly Draco cared how much it was hurting her mother, whom she loved. Draco and her father, on the other hand, had a much more complex relationship. Of course using him as a defensive tactic throughout her schooling had come in handy, and she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy the perks awarded to them through her father’s position in the ministry. Nonetheless, Draco would lie on the roof and pick a star and pretend it was her father and say _I hate you for what you’ve done to us. I hate you for what you made us do._

 _You’re no better _,__ she’d tell herself. _You’re your father’s daughter, through and through._

Returning to Hogwarts as an ex-Death Eater was both a blessing and a curse. Finally she was free of the stagnant, morose energy of her home, but she also had to go back to the castle she’d hated for many years and sit in classrooms beside people who’d despise her for everything she’d done. Of course, Draco was choosing to go back, no one was making her. She wasn’t quite sure why. There was a pull to go back, a desperation to - fix things? Settle things? Maybe after all this time she couldn’t help but think fondly of the place she’d outwardly pretended to loathe. On the train, she hadn’t known how to behave herself. The war had long since killed stuck up, bullying for the fun of it Draco, but old feelings of resentment she had toward the people that had been her enemies for so long were difficult to shake. Not that any of them - _any_ of them - wanted anything to do with her. Seamus Finnigan actually walked into her on purpose, leading to her stumbling over while he walked away laughing with Dean Thomas. Nothing more than she deserved, but she scowled nonetheless, and pinched herself when the trained thought of _filthy half-blood_ popped into her head. _You don’t even fucking believe that shit. You never have. You don’t have the excuse not to think for yourself any more, vapid, vapid creature._

Mingling with her old Slytherin friends didn’t seem right, either. Goyle hadn’t even come back to school; she and her mother had moved abroad. Crabbe was dead. Draco always ached at the thought. The two of them had been there for her to boss around, mostly, but you don’t get over a lifetime of friendship just like that. Now she’d lost them both, and there was only Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, and Theo. She’d never been all that close with any of them besides Pansy and Blaise, and even speaking with them felt artificial, tense. Like all three of them didn’t know how to act around each other. Of course it was easy for Blaise to act his usual cocky, flirtatious self, but Draco just blanched every time he looked at her. And Pansy seemed to be in a world of her own. She barely showed up to meals, barely looked up in lessons. They’d all suffered losses in the war, both sides, but the losing side continually lost with every day. The shame Draco felt stung her with every step she took, every glare that came her way. She wanted to run from the school and never go back - she had money, she didn’t need qualifications - but something kept her there.

That something was Harry.

_Fuck._

New Year’s Eve. Draco sat on the end of her four-poster bed in a sparkly dress, feeling ridiculous. She’d twisted and untwisted her platinum hair up and down so many times it was a tangled mess, and she was sipping a chocolate liqueur she’d snuck into the school at the start of the year. Was she really going to do this? The Gryffindors were hosting their first ever and potentially only New Year’s Eve masquerade - what with Christmas going-home-for-the-holidays having been cancelled that year due to the safety concerns of parents - and she was acutely not invited. She wasn’t only not invited, she was _not invited _,__ as in _Draco Malfoy is not invited to our first ever and potentially only masquerade so help us Merlin _,__ as Lavender Brown was overheard telling some Hufflepuffs a few days ago. She was sure she could get in, anyway, as Blaise had somehow gotten himself invited (via the centuries old method of seducing the right person) and knew the password to get in. And she had a mask, an extravagant, gold mask with devil’s horns, so she wasn’t likely to be recognised by the drunk party goers. Draco had never particularly liked parties, actually. When she was younger they were used by her parents to parade her around in front of eligible young pureblood boys, and when she was older they were sad, drunken affairs where she got too tipsy and cried in a cupboard somewhere alone. But Harry was going to this party.  

Resolved, Draco twisted her hair back up and put on her mask, stumbling slightly as she left the Slytherin common room and began the lengthy walk to the Gryffindor tower, keeping as silent as possible for fear of getting caught out of bed past curfew. Normally she could’ve sweet talked her way out of trouble, depending on who caught her, but most of the professors were disillusioned with her now. And anyway, Draco had been through things which had drained her of her previous personality. Now she was a hateful shell who people steered clear of. Shaking away the thought, she steadied on. She wasn’t so bad. She was Draco Malfoy, after all. Even if she didn’t know what that meant any more, it meant something.

When she reached the portrait, she saw a gaggle of tipsy, giggling girls trying to remember the password to get in. The Fat Lady was looking at them with a bemused expression. “Lick your territory,” a seventh year girl was saying, adamant she was right as her friends laughed. “Lick your territory!”

Draco pushed through them, not being able to help her old contempt for idiocy. “Victory,” she said.

She’d never been to the Gryffindor common room before, and immediately upon walking in she didn’t regret that. It was bright and warm, gold, red, with a high ceiling and tall windows. She was a beast of shadows, closed spaces, cold. The hosts had charmed paper cranes to fly around the room in bursts of glitter, and music was playing from seemingly nowhere. It was like stepping into a crowded mess of debauchery for the sake of it, students dancing or touching in dark corners or showing off or laughing loudly. It was cramped. Even in her mask Draco felt unwanted and out of place, slugging from her own bottle and furious with herself for coming. _She won’t even want to see you. Why would she ever want to see you? You won’t be able to talk to her, of course not. Maybe she’s not even here. Maybe she’s -_

There she was. Sitting on a sofa and laughing at something Ron Weasley was saying, her brown-bronze skin glittering with gold that had fallen from the flying cranes. Even in her lion mask she was recognisable to Draco, who would know Harry Potter anywhere. She was wearing a red dress, a size too big, but she didn’t care at all, easily reclining and sipping from a glass. Draco felt breathless when she caught sight of her, and quickly took another drink, willing the daze she was beginning to feel to intensify. She’d been in love with Harry Potter from the moment they first spoke as children. She’d always, always known. Always known she liked girls, but kept it buried away where nowhere could see. When she met Harry she didn’t know how to begin to process her feelings, so of course she resorted to the only way she knew how; harassment. And through all the years that Harry had hated her, she had relished every moment they spoke, as awful as most of those interactions went. Draco had a patchwork across her chest to mark just one of them.

It was her goodness. Her pure, unadulterated goodness. It had been poisoning Draco for years. She’d reached out to touch the hot, burning light bulb that was Harry’s energy again and again, knowing each time she’d get burnt and regret it. And it hurt. It fucking hurt loving Harry Potter. It wasn’t self-harm, it was the worst kind of self-healing. Bitter medicine.

“Hello, hello,” someone stumbled toward her and cornered her with his arms. An intoxicated Terry Boot, judging by the slurring of his speech. “You look… like a good, good something. Are you zinth - sixth year? Seventh? I dunno you, do I?”

“I’m just looking for my friend,” Draco responded, attempting to push past. Terry put an arm on her shoulder to keep her in place.

“Woah, woah, woah, wait, I’m just chattin’,” he grinned. Draco felt sick. “It’s nearly midnight. Who’re you going to kiss? Gotta… got to have a New Year’s Eve kiss, dontcha?”

“I really -”

“Oh, c’mon love -”

“She’s not interested.”

Harry stepped between Draco and Terry, putting a firm hand on his chest and shoving him away. He stumbled, muttering something before wandering away. Draco could feel a repeated banging on the inside of her ribs as her heart begged to jump out. She felt dizzy, and braced herself against the wall she’d been cornered into. Around them people were chatting loudly and dancing to the mindless thrum playing, and no one seemed to recognise the moment for what it was. Harry smiled, leaning against the wall, less than a foot away from Draco. “You okay? Sorry about that tosser.”

“Yes. Th - thank you,” Draco stuttered out, blinking rapidly as she savoured what it felt like to be _smiled _at__ by _Harry fucking Potter _.__ Why was she being nice?

“No need. I’m Harry, by the way.”

Draco’s stomach sunk like she’d been pushed off of a great height. That’s why. She had no idea who she’d just saved or smiled at, who she was talking to. Draco relished the opportunity to be anonymous with her, to see what she was like with someone she didn’t hate. But it hurt, nonetheless. Knowing Harry wouldn’t be talking to her if she knew. Draco tilted her head, drinking in Harry’s long, messy braids and carnelian complexion, her cheeks dazzled with the crane glitter, the infamous scar on her forehead. She was a skinny girl, always had been, sometimes to the point where Draco worried about her at the beginning of the school year when she came from wherever it was she stayed in the summer and looked worse for wear but pleased, happy, content to be back. Draco would ache if she had to see the dawning look of realisation on the face of the girl she loved. Would ache to see her scowl and turn away.

“I don’t have a name,” she whispered. Harry grinned again, a look of intrigue dancing in her eyes.

“Sounds… liberating,” Harry responded, mixing her drink with a straw and glancing downwards. “My life would be much easier if I could be nameless.”

“But then you wouldn’t be you.”

Harry glanced back up, and for a moment Draco thought she’d been figured out and the other girl had recognised her. But Harry just bit her lip - _Merlinmerlinmerlin _-__ and shrugged. “For a day? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Draco didn’t know how to respond, her drunk delirious brain thirty seconds behind her eager, desperate heart. Just then the crowd filling the tower began to count down. _Twelve! Eleven! Ten!_ Voices eager and happy and full of life. People were standing fingers linked or arms around each other, together, and Draco felt desperately alone. _Nine! Eight! Seven!_

“It’s nearly the new year.” she said, turning back to find Harry seemingly searching Draco with her gaze. _Six! Five! Four!_ There was almost something unreadable there, and Draco prepared to run should the moment ask for it. She’d rather run than get into a fight and have to play the bratty villain like she had for so many years. Having Harry hate her, she decided - especially having gotten a taste of what it felt like to not be hated - was worse than never getting to see her.

_Three! Two! One!_

Harry pulled Draco toward her and kissed her.


End file.
